


Playgrounds Are the Hardest Places to Go

by atlas (cissysullivan)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asthmatic!Sam, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cissysullivan/pseuds/atlas





	Playgrounds Are the Hardest Places to Go

ecess was Sam’s least favorite part of the day. It was when he was supposed to run around and play with the other kids and just let loose for a few hours. He was supposed to climb the jungle gym, play tag, swing, and build castles in the sandbox. He was supposed to come back into the classroom breathless and red-cheeked, sweaty but happy.

But that never happened.

Sam’s fingers curled around the inhaler in his pocket. He might as well have glued the thing to his hand he needed it so often. He tried not to use it that much. The other kids thought the puffing sound it made was funny and the fact that he couldn’t breathe without it was also humorous and, more than once, had taken the thing from him, knowing that he couldn’t chase them to get it back. Whenever this happened, he lied to Dean, telling him that it must have slipped out of his pocket without his noticing, but he didn’t think his brother really believed him.

   Instead of making his way to the field where the kids played tag or to the swings or even the playground, he headed towards the benches. He’d found that this was the safest place for him to go. Most of the time, other kids were too busy playing with each other to notice the kid sitting on the bench, swinging his short legs, hunched up against the cold, staring at the woodchips beneath him.

“Hey, shrimp.”

Most of the time.

Sam froze the minute he heard the voice. He pretended he didn’t hear it. He pretended that it was just a trick of the cold autumn air blowing around him. Maybe if he pretended that, maybe if he thought it hard enough, that’s what it would be.

A pair of rough hands pushed him off the bench and he fell back onto the ground, the hard concrete pushing all of the air from his lungs. His head cracked against the pavement and, for a few seconds, black dots danced on the edges of his vision.

He opened his mouth to draw in another breath, to push himself to his feet and beg Dirk to leave him alone. He didn’t want to deal with him today.

But he couldn’t.

It was as though that simple gesture had taken all the oxygen in the world away from him and only him. It all belonged to Dirk now and he wasn’t going to give it back.

One of the boys flanking the bigger boy bent down and when he straightened, Sam saw him turning a small blue object between his fingers. His eyes widened a fraction and panic raced through him.

They had his inhaler. They had his inhaler and he was having an asthma attack.

“What’s this, squirt?” Dirk asked, taking the inhaler from the boy and looking at it himself. “Your drugs?”

Sam reached for it, he tried to explain that he needed it, that he couldn’t breathe without it, but he couldn’t get out the words. He couldn’t get in enough air to say anything. He could only wheeze helplessly from his place on the ground.

“Why can’t we have any? It must be pretty good shit if you’re constantly taking it.”

Dirk was just wrapping his lips around the mouthpiece and Sam was beginning to lose consciousness when a voice behind the boys said, “Hey.”

Dirk and his cronies turned all at once and before Sam could really see what had happened, they were toppling to the ground, clutching their noses, their stomachs, and their legs. Sam saw a flash of a worn brown leather jacket, black steel-toed boots, and calloused fists, and, though he was in pain, his lungs desperately seeking air, he felt relief.

Dean had found him.

It was rare that the fifth graders had recess with the first graders, but when they did, Sam usually spent all of his time with his older brother. He didn’t know today was one of those days. Dean must’ve been coming over to find him when he saw the boys picking on him. His eyelids fluttered and he was brought back into the reality of his situation. If he didn’t get that inhaler back soon, he was going to pass out and have to spend time in the hospital. That was the last thing he wanted.

“Sammy,” he heard his brother’s voice far above him. He reached for it. Or tried to anyway. He couldn’t lift his arms anymore. The lack of oxygen to his brain had weakened him. “Where’s your inhaler, Sam?”

He tried to tell him Dirk had it, but he didn’t have to. A few seconds later, he felt the plastic pressing against his lips. Dean opened them for him and pressed the top of the inhaler, forcing the air into his lungs. The relief was immediate. The tunnel his vision had become vanished and he could see again. He was lying with his upper body in Dean’s lap. His brother looked scared half to death and when his brother seemed to be gaining back his lucidity, he let out a breath of relief, closing his eyes in a long blink. “Thank God,” he mumbled, pulling Sam against his chest, clutching him.

Sam curled his tiny fingers in Dean’s clothes and said, “Thank you for rescuing me.”

Dean pressed his nose into his little brother’s hair, closing his eyes and he drank in his sweet Sammy smell. His voice was choked when he replied, “Always.”


End file.
